Blood Flecked Skies
by FireOpal
Summary: A reflection on the battlefield. Contains: war, slight swearing, character death and Voldemort. A one-shot, unless you say so. See inside for more information. COMPLETED, WITH EPILOGUE.
1. Default Chapter

Hi, this is my first Harry Potter fic (or at least, the first I've posted, watch out for a new one, coming soon), so, here's the usual drill. I own nothing, not even the p.c. I'm typing this on. Ok, I own the plot, but that was inspired (ok, be prepared to be freaked) by 'Hero' by Enrique Eglasias (sorry if I spelt it wrong) and 'Beautiful Girl' by INXS.   
This is a PG because of some naughty words and war content, with a few mangled bodies, but nothing too graphic. Oh, and character death, but no, I'm not telling you who! A slight warning, I haven't had this beta'd, because I don't have anyone to do it for me. And I'll say this now so I don't interrupt the mood at the end, if you want it to continue, be so kind as to leave me with a review, with one of two options –   
1) The 'person' dies.   
2) The 'person' lives.  
Simple, eh?  
  
The scene: - picture it, a few years after Harry and company leave Hogwarts, and its come to the final battle, told through the eyes of one who fought.  
  
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**  
Blood Flecked Skies.  
**  
It was getting dark, the dying dun sinking slowly into the blood-flecked sky and taking with it the last rays of light from the old day. Tranquillity now reigned where blood pooled and smoke rose from the mangled battlefield – stark contradiction to earlier scenes; flashes of light, the sound of last breaths being breathed, screams of pain, moans of longing for peace, and the laughter of the cloaked and masked soldiers led by an apparition of evil. Voldemort. Even earlier than that, the new green grass had been fresh with dew, with bright sunshine and clear sapphire skies reflected in the tiny drops of water, and the wind had blown around playfully, carrying news of dark foreboding and the scent of flowers. Now the apprehension and fear had been replaced by a deathly calm, that spread its' wings like a silent blanket.   
Another time, she would have been worried; by the lack of pain and spread of sweet numbness over her battered body, the absence of notable survivors, save for the occasional moan or rattle of breath, and the falling night that chilled the air, but nothing mattered anymore. All she could think of was before. Before the pain, before the carnage, before the terror, before the death, when she had known, deep in her heart, that the morning sunrise marked the end and beginning of many things.  
  
The Order had met at Headquarters as usual, they were all there, and many who weren't members, and yet had wanted to be in this fight – the last fight, the last hope for the side of light. Today was indeed a day of reckoning, when enemies on the same side had stood side by side for the last time. No one had said much; mostly people were in quiet contemplation, last goodbyes', reciting spells and incantations, reviewing the plans that had been forged for months, years, one last time, practise duels, and a few optimistic and quickly silenced people who would occasionally mention that everything would be all right, and before they knew it, we would all be back here again, together and victorious.   
They gave us some privacy, the Trio, of which we were grateful. We had set ourselves apart, in a different room, unable to bear the heavy tension and worried glances. We had talked of the oddest things; Quidditch, old friends, loved ones, run-ins with Snape and other teachers so long ago. Another time, we might've found it funny almost, here we were, sitting around together on the eve of the greatest battle the Wizarding world had ever known, and yet Ron and Harry could still talk about Quidditch, but then we were all so nervous, almost giddy with the tension. I had sat there, quiet, fixing that last perfect moment in my memory, so that I could see it again, see the smiles on their faces, hear their laughter, feel comfortable, feel safe. The firelight flickered, the dancing flames casting shadows, the smell of wood burning merrily, the cosy warmth, companionship of friends, best friends, the unspoken love between us all.   
I can picture it now, quite easily. Ron had lounged on a large leather armchair between Harry and me; his face was white but determined, and ill- concealed nervousness. We had all decided to wear muggle clothes, after all, they were easier to fight and move in during combat than robes, and more comfortable. Ron looked tall and gangly as he had when he was a teenager, he hadn't grown out of it yet, and he was twenty-three, and he was wearing simple clothes – jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater. For a second, I pictured his freckled face, a slight, worried smile, and a mess of red hair. We were all too young.   
I had worn pretty much the same sort of clothes, jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket, with my wand tucked in my pocket, so that I wouldn't fiddle with it anymore. My bushy hair was pulled into a slightly messy ponytail, but I didn't really care much, as long as it was out of my face. I think I was the most prepared of us, I had asked Snape for a few healing potions which were nestled in my pocket reassuringly, unbreakable of course.   
I remember Harrys' face best. His silky, unruly raven black hair, determined sparkling emerald eyes, lightly tanned skin, Quidditch and training refined muscles. The only difference between his and Rons' clothing was a black hooded cloak. A few years earlier, after a particularly nasty run-in with Voldemort, the year we left Hogwarts, I had placed an unbreakable charm on his glasses, which still graced his face. His scar wasn't covered, and stood out angrily, as if showing, more than ever, the connection between him and the Dark Lord. He had fiddled absentmindedly with his wand, reminding me of all the other countless times we had sat like this. No, not quite like this, this was the last time. All the close shaves, rescue missions, ambushes, daring plans, and she had never told him. Never.  
  
Back on the eerie battlefield, she shivered as a cool night breeze brushed over her, disrupting her thoughts. She shifted position, wincing as the pain crept along her body like poison, but never letting a sound pass her chapped lips.  
  
She remembered the battle well, even though it had mainly been a mass of confusion. They had apparated here together, Harry quickly taking the head with Dumbledore. They had stood slightly behind him, Ron nearly trembling with fear, but she had felt the same deadly calm she felt now. The Dark Lord had appeared quickly, at the head of a mighty army – Dementors, Werewolves, Vampires, Giants, and many other fearsome beasts, and of course, his own Death Eaters. They were rapidly outnumbered, but she had never felt afraid. She watched as Harry walked forward to meet Voldemort, his cloak billowing in the wind.   
"So Tom, you decided to show." His voice had been colder than ice, and she knew his eyes would be as hard as flint. The spider like, inhuman figure of Voldemort had walked to the front of his army, flanked by Peter Pettigrew, his silver hand glinting in the morning sunshine, and Lucius Malfoy, an evil sneer on his face.   
"Ah, Harry. I thought I told you it was impolite to refer to your master by his first name."   
"You have, and never will be my master, Tom, because today you will die, and the world will be free of your evil." They both spoke so calmly, as if they were good friends talking beside a fire in the Gryffindor common room. It was unnerving.   
"But there you are wrong, young Harry. I see your pitiful rabble is no match for my army. Such a shame you will die like this, but I will personally make sure your friends," here his red eyes had flicked over to Ron and me, "die before you, and you can watch as they plead for their lives under _crucio_."   
"No Tom, it is you who are wrong. I will defeat you, and all your followers will suffer your fate."   
"Bold words, but come! Today we came to fight, and we might as well let the games begin. I will see you die, Harry, and today it will happen." As he spoke, the first wave of his army charged forwards, and the battle had begun. Harry was still at the head, sending out curses and spells so fast, even Dumbledore was shocked, as each held their own. Dimly, as I shot my own spells, dodging attacks from all sides, I saw many of our side fall, but no way near as many as Voldemorts' army fell in that first wave.   
As we regrouped, and Mediwitches and wizards went around tending to the wounded, I saw those who fell. A vampire had taken down Percy, who had returned to the Order in our seventh year, and passed on information from the Ministry. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been taken down as well, his body ripped to shreds by a pack of werewolves. Draco, who had turned spy a year before we left school, looked in pretty bad shape too. Ginny was tending him, she seemed to have quite a flair for healing, and loved Draco. Remus was walking around with Harry, checking the forces and deciding tactics. Many others who I didn't know so well had fallen as well, but just as we had regrouped, Voldemort attacked again. The air was soon thick with flashes of light as the Death Eaters joined the battle. The first notable casualty, (apart from quite a few dark creatures and many of the giants) of the other side, was Bellatrix Lestrange. I saw her fall, and at the hand of Harry. The expression on his face as he watched her die, I will never forget. Bellatrix had killed Sirius, and he had finally got revenge.   
It was at this point, when Harry had spotted Voldemort and yelled to us and Dumbledore that he was going after him, that Ron fell. Malfoy had got him under _crucio_, just as Voldemort had planned, and he was writhing on the ground, while that bastard laughed. I think I lost it a bit there, and I remember casting _expelliarmus_ and _stupefy_ several times at his beaten body. When I realised he was dead, I left him there, and went over to Ron. He looked pretty bad, but it was a good thing I'm so practical. I used nearly all of my healing potions then and there, and was happily inspecting my results as Ron awoke.   
That's' when it happened. I think it was Macnair, I heard the incantation (isn't it funny how detached you can get about this?) '_crucio_'. It hit me straight on in the back, and I must've collapsed, because the next thing I remember is trying to stand as a laughing Death Eater stood over me. It was Macnair, he raised his hood in triumph, I remember now, but just as he did, he pointed his wand at me, and got as far as avada ke-, before he was knocked out. It was Ron, bless him, but he never got chance for me to thank him. I raised myself up, I was really trembling, and my body prickled with pain, when I saw Ron go down again. This time, I didn't hear the incantation, and I had run out of potions. I staggered upright, and I found a pulse, but he looked very bad. He was covered in blood, and I think he had a few bones broken.   
I had to leave him, and turn back to the battle. I didn't want to do it, but what choice did I have? Hoping he would be ok, I took a look around the battlefield. There was a lull, and I soon found out why. To my left, about five hundred metres away, there was a huge magical dome, where Harry was battling Voldemort. He was doing quite well, but I never saw the end of the battle. Just as I was watching the distant figures, I heard, too late, the swish of a cloak and a muttered stupefy. It hit me with so much force, I must've flown at least one hundred metres through the air, and I must've been knocked out.  
  
Now I lie, alone in the growing night, surrounded and soaked in blood, both my own, and others'. If I move, even blink, it sends so much excruciating pain through my body, I have to hiss through my teeth. I don't even know why I'm still alive. Everything else seems dead and barren. My eyes are getting heavier too, like in all the books I've ever read. I know my symptoms; I'm going to die. And the weird thing is, I don't mind. Like I said, nothing really matters anymore. I wonder if I'll see Percy?   
As I wonder, my mind starting to go fuzzy, I freeze when I hear footsteps. They're slow, and stop every so often. Looking around as much as I can, I see a dark figure, making their way across the battlefield. He, or she, seems to be checking people, maybe they're checking for survivors? As they come closer, whoever it is spots me, and nearly runs over, letting the hood drop from his face. It's Harry.   
"Hermione? Is that you? Are you ok?" He's kneeling beside me now, his face covered in blood and dirt, and a worried expression. I try a smile, but I don't think it worked. He places his strong arms around me, lifting me up slightly as I cough weakly. I see his startled eyes as a drop of blood courses from my slightly parted mouth.   
"Harry." Is all I can choke out as I stare into those perfect emerald eyes. He seems relieved that I'm still alive, and shifts position, taking off his cloak and tucking it over my body as he cradles my head. He's so strong and safe, I just want to lay in his arms and fall asleep. He sees my eyes start to flutter, and places a calloused hand on my cheek. I force my eyes open as he touches me so gently, and try to smile again.   
"The medi-witches are coming." He said as he turned, and drew out his wand, sending up brilliant red stars into the sky, where they hang like the real, diamond stars behind them. Then he turns back to me.   
"You need to hold on Hermione." I see a tear flow down his cheek, washing away the dirt in a line. I raise my heavy arm, painfully and wipe it away clumsily, and he holds my arm to his cheek, letting me rest my hand there. Suddenly, I need to tell him. To tell him everything.   
"Harry," I manage to stutter out, and continue to talk as he tries to stop me, placing his hand on my lips. "Harry, I need to tell you, I love you Harry." Harry ignores the tears coursing down his face like tiny rivers, and wipes away tears from my own face. I hadn't even realised they were there.   
"I love you too, but you need to hold on Hermione." I close my eyes briefly, but manage to force them back open. Its' taking even more effort to stay awake now, and he knows. He cups my head in his hand, and with the other, he strokes my hair. It feels wonderful, to be so close to him. I've always dreamed of being so close to him, to telling him I love him, and now its' come true.   
"Harry, w-what happened t-to V-volde-Voldemort?" I stutter out. The pain is coming back, my legs still feel numb, but it seems the pain is even worse than that. He talks quietly, not too quiet so I have to strain to hear, but enough for me to feel comfortable.   
"I killed him, we won." His voice is starting to break now. "You need to hold on Hermione, I love you, please hold on. You know, when this is over, we can get an apartment together. Would you like that? And we can have a big party to celebrate. I love you so much Hermione. I think I loved you ever since fifth year. It's stupid, I should've told you earlier, but I was scared." He laughs slightly. "I was never scared of Voldemort, but I was scared of saying I love you." He's babbling, and I can tell he's scared.   
My eyes are starting to mist over now, its' getting so hard to breathe, to stay awake, but I need to, for Harry. I love Harry. Vaguely, as I start to fade even more, I can hear more footsteps. Probably mediwizards or something. But then I hear Rons' voice. I'm so glad to hear him – he's alive.   
"Harry, is she-?" I hear him say. Through my misty vision I can see his red hair, so vibrant even at night. I see Harry shake his head, and then I feel tears fall onto my face. Harrys' tears. I hear more footsteps, then voices.   
"Hermione? Stay awake, my dear. We're just going to get you out of here and to St Mungo's. You'll be perfectly fine." I think it's Dumbledore, but I'm not sure. My hearing is fading as well. I can't feel anything, but it's so peaceful, just to lay here in Harrys' arms as he strokes my hair, cradling me like a child. I can't fight it anymore, and my eyes close. Almost as if from a distance, I can hear my breathing slow, my heart is stopping, and I feel myself slip away into peacefulness.  
  
Harry panicked as he saw Hermione's eyes close.   
"Hermione? Please stay with us, I love you. Don't leave me." He fumbles to find a pulse, and to his mounting horror, he couldn't find it. He looked up at Dumbledore, who looks very grave, and nobody says anything. Harry cries harder, clutching onto Hermione's broken body in the silent night, as the stars twinkle above the swaying trees, and the wind which ruffles branches, grass and tugs at the still forms of those who will never celebrate the fall of Voldemort. Those who will never again laugh with their friends, fall in love, get married, have children, never again to live. Voldemort is dead, but at a great price.  
  
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Please review, tell me what I can change and make better. Also, please answer the question at the beginning. Thank you.


	2. Epilogue

I had so many pleas for an epilogue on this one, that I finally thought of a way to end it! (I had no idea before!) Reviews will be answered at the end. Now onto the epilogue, for I'll keep ye waiting no longer! Enjoy! - FireOpal.

It was raining. Soft drizzle flittered through the damp, cold, grey air, and settled, dew-like on the bright grass, rain-slicked gravestones and on the hair of one man, who knelt before a separate gravestone. The sky was a dull and unchanging slate, the sun barely lighting the scene. The only sound was that of the tiny sounds of rain drops hitting stone, and silence. No birds sang, no body spoke, nothing moved. No, one thing moved – the shoulders of the man, kneeling in the damp grass before the marble stone. His shoulders moved gently up and down as he breathed, and sobbed silently.

The man was dressed in a long, flowing black cloak that brushed past his toes when he stood upright, and it had a low hood that could be pulled over his face, now swept back so you could see his face. His hair was covered in tiny crystalline drops of rain; it slicked his face, mingled with tears. Raven hair, silver tears. Emerald eyes gazed at the inscription engraved into the cold, unfeeling stone, reminding him of that day: the fierce fighting, the beautiful weather, the death, and the contradictions. Death and beauty – torture and love. The words seemed to resound off of his heart, echoing around his mind, cutting him in two. '_...she was the youngest to die...'_

Suddenly, his eyes seemed to look up, glaring at the sky, pleading silently, asking the world why – why she had been taken, why he had been spared, why it had to be him, why so many had to have died. But he spoke no words, and quickly turned back to the stone marker, brushing his ebony hair out of his eyes, showing a glimpse of the famous lightning bolt scar – the reason for all his pain. He also brushed his glasses further up his nose, and wiped his eyes.

Soon, his auror-trained senses told him someone was near by, but he remained outwardly relaxed. Most of the Death Eaters had been captured and given the Dementor's Kiss, Bellatrix too. That ruled out attack nearly, and here, this place was warded and guarded, so that friends and family of the people now resting here could come here in peace.

When he felt a gentle, comforting, and still slightly frail hand on his shoulder, he still didn't turn. He knew exactly who it was, but didn't turn. He needed to do this. The person seemed to understand as well, and stood silently behind him, lending support through the comforting hand. Then the person spoke, as the rain continued to fall around them.

"It wasn't your fault, Harry." The reply was clear, sharp, and thick.

"I should've stopped them. Voldemort had died, for pity's sake! I should've been there, helped her, saved her..."

"Harry, you can't save everyone. You killed Voldemort, and so thousands of people can live in peace, and not be afraid of torture or pain. She knew the risks as well as you do." Harry bowed his head, trying to stop the tears. "You cannot bring her back, Harry. She's gone."

The words seemed to join those of the inscription, and echoed around his mind - _...she's gone... you cannot bring her back... she's gone.'_

They were right though, he could not bring her back, and hopefully she was somewhere better, and he would see her again.

"I will see you again," he said softly, stroking the cold, wet stone. Then a crooked, attempt at a grin lit his face, exercising muscles long thought gone by his friends. "But not just yet."

He stood swiftly, years of Quidditch and Auror training showing in this one, flexible, swift movement. The black material swirled around his legs as he moved, disrupting the tiny, glasslike dewdrops and wrapping warmly around his body. Finally, he turned to the person behind him, and smiled that old smile again, the only difference being in the pools of his eyes – pain, despair, weariness.

The person seemed to read this, and stroked his face gently with her finger, then pulling him into an embrace.

"We all miss her, but I think her death hit you hardest." She says, moving his hair out of the emerald eyes, to hold his gaze. When he gave no reply, she pulled out of the embrace, and pulled the cloak she wore closer around her body. Harry placed his arm loosely across her shoulders, and they walked out of the deserted cemetery, never looking back. Never to return. Never to read the inscription again.

_Ginevra Weasley _

_Beloved daughter, friend, and companion._

_She did what was right, though she was the youngest to die._

_She will never be forgotten._

So, guys – here's your epilogue, as asked! I hope you all realised the 'mysterious stranger' was Hermione – shame on you if you didn't! Now, please review!

**Review Responses:**

**SPecter()** - Thank you for the review, and I hope you liked it, even though I can't really continue this one much! At least in my opinion. If anyone wants to offer to write some more with the same ideas, contact me and I'll give you a hand on how I see this!  
**albanach()** - Again, thank you for the review, you're comments mean a lot to me. As you can see, I did as asked, though I must say, that when I thought of this, I didn't think I could kill her off. Hope you enjoyed the epilogue!  
**Usha88** - I'm not sure I would particularly describe this as sweet, but there you go! Thank you for the comments, and as you can see, it's a nearly happy ending. Shame about poor Ginny though. (dodges Ginny fans throwing apples and tomatoes at her).

Now you've read this, go read my other stuff! Please? And review? Please? With a Chocolate Frog?


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